


Vermillion

by yeaka



Category: Smallville
Genre: Collars, Dominance, Ficlet, Handcuffs, M/M, Puppy Play, Roughness, Submission
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-04-30
Updated: 2016-04-30
Packaged: 2018-06-05 10:09:22
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,400
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6700675
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/yeaka/pseuds/yeaka
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>With red kryptonite, Clark can treat Lex the way they both need.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Vermillion

**Author's Note:**

> A/N: Set somewhere in s5. 
> 
> Disclaimer: I don’t own Smallville or any of its contents, and I’m not making any money off this.

Lex knows anyway—they never talk about it, but Clark’s _sure_ of it; Lex looks at Clark the same way Lana did, like all he wants is for Clark to _tell the truth_. But that’s too hard. This is easier.

It gets easier when Clark recounts in his head all the wrongs Lex’s done—having him investigated, lying about Chloe, everything under the sun right down to a lake full of dead fish. He _deserves_ whatever Clark does to him. He _wants_ it. He must know what the red kryptonite does, and yet he had this ring made, sent it straight to Clark wrapped up like a present, and he never tells Clark off, no matter what Clark does—Clark remembers that much. He takes another step, sucks in a breath, wars with himself for one more split second, and then slips on the ring. He _needs_ this release—it’s safer here than with Lana. With anyone else. The ring slides down to his knuckle and everything’s easier.

He can breathe. The weight’s all gone from his shoulders. He rolls them, pulled taut beneath the usual red jacket, and he turns towards the stairs from his loft, down them in less than a second. He races straight to Lex’s mansion like the ring is drawing him there—and for all he knows, it is, but he doesn’t care, not now, when he’s finally so _free_ , can just be himself with someone else who won’t break and already knows and is no angel. Clark flies right past the security guards, storming into the manor like he owns the place (maybe someday he will) and throws the doors open to Lex’s study. They slam against the wall so hard that they rebound back, shutting themselves. Lex looks up across the room, hand around a glass full of gold liquor. Clark’s across the room in another heartbeat. 

He grabs Lex from behind with full force, the glass tumbling out of Lex’s hand—Clark grabs it but lets the alcohol fall. He doesn’t want broken shards mixed in with the spill. He places it back on Lex’s desk with the sort of care he doesn’t show Lex’s body. He crushes Lex against him like a giant stress ball, built for the pressure of Clark’s arms. 

Lex lets out a tiny grunt, maybe of pain. Clark just wraps around him tighter. One hand across Lex’s chest and the other straying down Lex’s crotch, Clark licks at Lex’s ear and hisses, “Aren’t you a mess puppy.” It names today’s game. They both know Lex would never spill anything if it weren’t for Clark, but that’s no excuse. 

Lex tilts his face into Clark’s touch, opening up his cheek for Clark to bite across, and says, “You’re wearing the ring.” Like there could be any doubt. Clark’s a whole different animal without the kryptonite’s borrowed confidence. 

Moments like this, Clark doesn’t understand why he doesn’t keep it on all the time. He lifts the hand rubbing over Lex’s chest to trace Lex’s neck, bare beneath the purple collar of his dress shirt. Clark gives a little squeeze, just too tight for comfort, just to savour Lex’s breathless gasp, and he growls, “You’re not wearing your collar.”

As soon as Clark’s grip loosens enough to let him, Lex mutters, “It’s been a week since you visited me—you can’t expect me to wear it all the time.”

Clark snorts and snarls, “Yes, I _can_.” His hips buck forward, smashing Lex’s into the desk, and he grinds against Lex’s tight ass for a few extra seconds before slamming Lex completely over it, sending papers flying to the floor and the laptop askew. While Lex winces and straightens out, Clark takes off, dashes through the manor, down the hall and up the stairs, breaks right into Lex’s bedroom and throws the nightstand door open, busting the lock to pieces. The collar’s lying inside, where Clark expected—not a fancy, nice thing like the gifts Lex gives to him, but a genuine _dog collar_ that Clark picked up in a thrift shop, just to see the cheap, second-hand material against Lex’s normally pampered skin. By the time Clark’s back in Lex’s study, Lex has barely moved around the desk to catch his papers. 

Clark is against him again in an instant, holding him still by the hips with one hand and wrenching his shirt open with the others. The buttons fly away, Lex’s chest heaving beneath in exertion and adrenaline. Clark ties the collar back on a notch too tight, just to keep Lex breathless. There’s a short pause after, where Clark just _feels_ Lex’s body, runs greedy hands between his thighs and under his shirt, where Lex could protest. But of course, Lex doesn’t. He needs this as much as Clark does. It gives Clark that heady rush of _power_ —he could do _anything_ to this man, one of the most powerful humans alive—and he’s struck, not for the first time, by the odd wish to drag Lex back to the fortress, keep him chained and collared there, and _fuck him hard into the crystal_.

Instead, he shoves Lex down to the hardwood. Lex hits his knees with a grunt, and Clark squats down beside him, shoving him lower by the shoulders. On hands and knees over the pool of liquor, Lex glances over his shoulder. Clark asks, “Don’t you want your drink?” He can feel himself smirking. Lex looks like he might protest but ultimately doesn’t. 

He slowly looks down at the puddle, licks his lips, and bends forward, tongue swiping delicately into it. The next lick is similarly hesitant, so Clark, not wanting to waste all day, shoves Lex down by the neck until Lex’s mouth is open wide against the floor. When Clark loosens his grip, Lex grunts but obediently licks faster, harder, properly lapping up his spill. Halfway through the mess, Clark softens enough to pet the back of Lex’s head and offer, “Good boy.”

A shudder runs through Lex, like it always does when Clark says something that should be humiliating. Lex’s efforts only redouble. So Clark pets down his neck, along his back, feeling him properly and rewarding him with the touch he so clearly craves, until the floor’s dry other than Lex’s saliva. He turns his cheek to the floor when he’s done but doesn’t dare get up. He looks at Clark instead, eyes flashing, so much _deeper_ than anyone else Clark knows; Lex is truly complicated. And devoted to Clark, if not in an entirely healthy way. With the ring on, Clark doesn’t care. He grabs Lex’s arm with violent force and jerks Lex up, then lifts him higher, carries him, takes them both back up to Lex’s bedroom in a blur. 

He tosses Lex to the bed like a rag doll, and Lex bounces in the mattress at the strength of it, scrambling to sit up. Clark’s already into the closet, into all the locked, hidden drawers where Lex keeps the fun things—things for just _this_ Clark to play with. There might’ve been others, but Clark’s made it clear that if Lex wants him, Lex will have no one else. He thinks Lex has obeyed. (No one else could give him what Clark can.)

Clark pulls handcuffs out and has Lex thoroughly bound to the headboard a second later. Lex takes it, lies there with his marked wrists held above his head, cheeks flushed and eyes dilated, shirt ripped open, skin pink with finger marks, collar cutting into his throat. He already looks debauched, half brutalized, and they haven’t even started. His hazy gaze says he’s looking forward to whatever ride Clark will take him on. 

Lex _trusts_ Clark, even though he does _this_ , has done so much worse, and will never say the truth aloud. Their connection transcends that. For a moment, Clark’s the one to hesitate. He can feel the ring burning into his finger. Usually, it’s only after it’s too late, when he’s left Lex battered and wet with saliva, sweat, and seed, that Clark feels guilty enough to take the ring off.

He almost does it now. He could slip it off so easily and crawl over Lex, kiss him and take him _right_.

But then Lex growls, “What’re you waiting for?” And Clark lunges forward, ready to fuck Lex as rough as he can.


End file.
